


Soundtrack To My Mind

by Holy0cheese



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Kara Danvers Needs a Hug, Teacher-Student Relationship, Trans, Transgender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:21:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24485779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holy0cheese/pseuds/Holy0cheese
Summary: Kara is a 16 year old transgender girl. She was once known as Mike, but she couldn't stand that person. He was an angry,  anxious person, and that's not who she was. She finds comfort through one of teachers, Lena Luthor, who she meets through unconventional circumstances. (NOTHING HAPPENS TILL KARA GRADUATES DONT WORRY)Kara suffers from extreme, almost debilitating anxiety. After Jeremiah's death, Eliza became a cold person, someone who nobody recognized and Alex was away at college, so Kara was truly alone. An outcast as school and at home.
Relationships: Alex Danvers & Kara Danvers, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Kudos: 33





	Soundtrack To My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> my computer hates me so the formatting kept fucking up so lets hope its not too bad. if it is, so sorry!

I walked to the doors that lead to the corridor, equipped with my earbuds and a good playlist. A wall of freshmen blocked the doors, making it almost impossible to get through, just like every year. The freshmen, not yet acquainted with high school life, decide the best place to awkwardly stand before class is right in front of the doors. That’s why I always perfectly timed when to show up - enough time to go to my locker and find my class, but not too much so I wouldn’t have to stand around. 

The school was renovated five years ago, but it wasn’t very well maintained. The once bright white faded over the years, as students' mental states do. The hallways smell stale and stains decorated the ceiling tiles. When it rains, the tiles sag with water and trash cans line the hallways to catch water. At least there’s 3 new sports fields, upgraded bleachers, and a new gym, because that helps students academically. 

First days of school are always riddled with anxiety for me, but most people must experience this too. I don’t really know what goes on in everyone else’s heads, but I assume most people experience anxiety in one way or another, especially during something new. Probably not as bad as mine, but for all I know, my anxiety could be average and I’m just blowing it out of proportion in my mind. I guess anxiety is relative.

I like to rate my anxiety on a scale of one-ten. It helps me put things into perspective and think about what I can do to calm it. That day was about a seven for me. Seven means taking deep breaths into my stomach and trying to ground myself by thinking rational thoughts. I usually fidget because it helps to keep my hands busy. It minimizes shaking. Seven is bad, but not unmanageable. Eight is a low level anxiety attack, and I was bordering that territory.

I held my eraser in my hoodie pocket, so no one could see it, and scratched the side of it with my thumb. It was one of those big pink erasers everyone buys for school but never uses, at least I never have and I’ve never seen anyone use them outside of art. There was a big indention in its side and my pockets always have eraser shreddings in them, but it helps. Anything is better than nothing.

With my free hand, I stared at the schedule on my phone. My thoughts became unbearably loud. What if you look retarded…no don’t use that word. Not even in thought. What if you’re a bad person? Only a bad person would use that word. But how does that quote go? “The first thought that goes through your head is what society has taught you, the second is who you really are.” It’s something like that. No stop making excuses. Words hurt. Your hand is in your pocket. That looks stupid. It’s still summer technically. Why are you even wearing a hoodie? Because you don’t retain body heat, that’s why, idiot. Crap stop just standing there! Move! I suddenly was walking forward, legs moving on autopilot. It felt like people were staring at me, and they probably were. I let my hair grow out over the summer and it was at the point of brushing my shoulders. I was just waiting for someone to come up to me and ask why I hadn’t cut my hair. Even though I’d thought about it a lot, I still hadn’t made up my mind whether I was going to tell the truth or attempt to brush them off. I didn’t have long to decide though as Samantha Arias, the world’s peppiest person, came bouncing over. I took out my earbuds and prepared for whatever nonsense she was going to spill out of her mouth.

“Mike, heyyy!” Did she really have to drag out the ‘hey’? And hearing my dead name, in stereotypical terms, made my skin crawl and my stomach drop to the floor. Everything she did got on my nerves. She was a small, intimidating person. She was short enough that she had to look up to see me, at 5’7”. She was dressed in a yellow halter top, which I was sure would get her dress coded, black legging, and a jean jacket that had a terrible kissing emoji patch on the chest pocket. She had the Basic Bitch™ white Adidas on, which completed her terrible outfit. Her bleached bob cut was pinned up on the sides, giving her rich, mean girl vibes. In 6th grade, she tried to get me to be her “gay best friend”, even though at that time I’d never said I was anything other than a heterosexual male, and I was shocked. Looking back, I was most definitely a young fruit.

“Hey,” I muttered, hoping she’d get the hint that I wanted her to leave. But just like a pesky fly, she always came back. Circling, buzzing with rumors about anyone.

“Your hair is so long!” She went straight for the kill. “I liked it short. Not that I don’t like it long, but it was better short. Oh wait, are you a transgender?” I stared at her in disbelief, my mouth slightly agape. “Sorry, that sounded rude. I swear I’m not transphobic! I have transgender friends. I accept everyone for who they are. Although lying isn’t good, and isn’t that all that transgender is? A big lie. And you've always been really feminine.”

And with that, I had two options:  
1\. Act like what she’d just said wasn’t offensive to me, and every trans person, ever and pretend to not be trans. (My anxiety’s choice).  
2\. Tell her the truth and tell her off. (This one was scarier, but much more desirable).

Today, for the first time in a long time, my anxiety lost and I decided she deserved to know how much of an ignoramus she was. It wasn’t even for myself, but for anyone else who might’ve been around. I didn’t even think about the words as they ran out of my mouth.

“First of all, you don’t say “a transgender”. I don’t think you realize how demeaning it is. It’s like saying we’re these things, but we are people. Stop using petty excuses to make up for your prejudice. Transgender people are people who have feelings. And just because a transgender person can somehow tolerate you, that doesn’t mean you’re not transphobic. That’s like Trump saying that him having a black friend makes him not racist, but that’s a whole other issue. It’s not a trend to have a transgender friend and it’s not something to brag about. “Oh look, I have a short friend!” Sounds ridiculous, right? That’s because it is. It’s ridiculous to announce that you have a friend of a certain type. Maybe next time you want to say some bullshit like that again, don’t. And you know what being non transphobic is? It’s standing up for transgender people, and honestly anyone, who is being marginalized. So, stop being an entitled bitch and learn to be a decent person maybe. And now I have to hurry to my locker if I’m going to make it to my class on time. It’s Kara now, by the way. Bye.”

I looked around and saw there was a small crowd of people, mostly freshman, surrounding us. I didn’t even look at Samantha’s face as I walked away because I immediately regretted what I’d done. I outed myself to her, and anyone else who was listening, and soon, anyone who was into gossip would know too.

Level eight had been reached. I’d never been able to get more than two words out without getting tongue tied, so I must’ve been possessed. It was the only explanation, obviously. My breathing sped up fast, but I couldn’t get enough air to my lungs. My legs felt unsteady as I walked quickly up the stairs.

Ten minutes till the bell rang and I needed to be in class with six to spare. I didn’t want to have to sit next to someone. I wanted to get a seat that had plenty of empty seats around it. What if someone was waiting for a friend to sit next to them or what if a person really didn’t want to sit next to me and I just plopped myself down next to them? If I were lucky, the teacher would have assigned seats, but that doesn’t happen that much in high school.

I made it to my locker, nine minutes till the bell. It took me three tries to get my locker open with my hands shaking as much as they were.

Eight minutes and I had put my stuff away that I wouldn’t need and kept the stuff I would for the next two classes. Nobody at my school used lockers really, but I liked them. Kept weight off my already, constantly sore back.

Seven minutes and I was scrambling to find room 1109. I knew it was on the Math hall, but it was still about a quarter of the school away. My thumb was less scratching and more sliding across the eraser with how clammy my hands were.

Six minutes and I was walking as fast as I possibly could, sweat dripping down my untoned stomach, my breath uneven and strained. My hair was a mess. I could feel it. My stomach was starting to get upset and I was getting light headed. So close.

Five minutes and I walked into the class, but not before checking the label on the door three times to make sure it was the right place. I walked in and got more than a couple of stares. I was a minute later than I planned, but I was in the clear. There was one desk surrounded by empty ones, but it was next to the teacher’s, who was nowhere to be seen was. Better than nothing. Before I sat down, I awkwardly looked around to make sure there were no assigned seats. The projector showed an empty, white screen and the desks didn’t have any labeling. This was Algebra 2 and it was taught by Mr. Xu. I wasn’t exactly sure how to pronounce it, so I figured it’d be best to listen for someone saying his name later. I didn’t want to need something and not know how to say his name, but then again when do I ever need anything. Well, I needed things a lot, but I never asked for them unless it was absolutely, 100% necessary. I was still shaking and breathing hard, but it was less intense.

I turned my “Chill” playlist on shuffle, not that I could just choose a song without Spotify Premium, and put my earbuds back in. The first song that came on was Night Trouble by Petit Biscuit. I heard it in the background of a video and really liked it, but I wanted something with words, so I skipped. But then, of course, an ad came on. Santa Monica Dream by Angus and Julia Stone came on. I found the song through Life Is Strange and honestly the songs off of the game are like a soundtrack to my mind. I still hadn’t calmed that much so I did the senses thing.

Five things I can see: the white board, my phone, the stainless steel water bottle on the teacher’s desk, my book bag, the projector.

Four things I can feel: the cold air conditioner blowing, my sweatshirt rubbing against my arm, the eraser in my hand, the sweat slowly dripping down my side.

Three things I can hear: Jessy Stewart talking to John Brown, the air conditioner blowing, my ragged breathing, wait… less ragged.

Two things I can smell: someone’s cologne, my shampoo.

One thing I can taste: the mint I popped before i got out of the car.

My anxiety wasn’t gone, but it was much more tolerable. Then began the inner argument of whether or not to ask the teacher to call me Kara. I really wanted him to, but I wasn’t sure I physically could make myself. I had two minutes until the bell rang and I filled them with anxious contemplation. The class filled in the last minute and there were only four seats left when the bell rang.

The teacher walked in right as it rung. He was a tall, slender Asian man, no more than 25. He gave us what seemed to be a genuine smile and shot us finger guns. It was cringy to say the least. He was wearing red skinny khakis, a blue, short sleeved button up, and big, hipster glasses. He didn’t dress as bad as most teachers, but it was obvious he was trying too hard to be “hip”. It honestly was most embarrassing that we were wearing similar outfits. I was wearing sky blue khakis and a black, short sleeved button up under my sweatshirt, and my glasses were similar to his. Of-fucking-course.

He went down the list of names, asking everyone if it’s what they wanted to go by or if they had a nickname. My last name is Danvers, so I was near the top of the list. Always has been, and always will be.

“Mike? Or do you go something else?” he asked. It felt like everyone was watching, listening closely.

“Mike is fine,” I said, completely ashamed of myself. But, I knew most of the people in the room already, and most of them probably already thought I was weird. I was, but that didn’t mean I wanted to give them more reasons to think so.

Class was exhausting to stay awake through. It was the same stuff as every first day of class ever. Go over procedures, the syllabus, and a paper you have to get a parent or guardian to sign. I’m not sure I’ve ever actually gotten one signed. I can never remember to, and teachers like to make it a grade, so I always have a zero first thing in classes. Another thing to be anxious about. First impression is a kid who doesn’t care.

Next was second period. We had assigned seats which was a big relief. This was US History and the teacher's name was Mr. Jackson. Same situation with the name because I couldn’t have one teacher call me Mike and another call me Kara. That would be an awkward situation, if somehow they talked about me and knew different names. I knew it wouldn’t happen, but anxiety loves to blur the line between likely and out of the realm of possibilities.

I slept about an hour on First Day Eve, so I was exhausted. I never sleep well on the night before the first day, if at all. I ended up falling asleep listening to my “Chill” playlist and Mr. J, as he insisted we call him, didn’t bother waking me up. I already liked him.

Then came lunch, the blessedly cursed time of day. It was an hour long, so that meant an hour break, but also an hour of awkwardly sitting alone in the hallway. At my school, not many people actually eat in the cafeteria - instead all over the school in permitted areas.

Of course I had some friends. I wasn’t close enough to sit with any of them though. I’m the friend that fades away into the background and gets forgotten. I hadn’t seen any of my friends, or as I think of them as, my acquaintances, yet. The day was getting long without any decent human interaction. An extrovert with anxiety is a recipe for depression.

My only close friend moved away over the summer. Her father was in the Air Force, so I knew that it was a real possibility for her to move, but I never actually though it would happen. She moved somewhere in Florida, leaving me alone to fend for myself in Georgia. It wasn’t too far, but it was far enough that I wouldn’t be able to see her very often.

All 1800 people at my school eat lunch at once and there are only three places to get food, one of which is the Café that is extremely overpriced. Since getting food is so hectic, I usually waited untill about halfway through lunch to get my food. But I also have to be sure to not wait too long or else I’ll be the only one in line and that’s too much possible attention on me.

I walked to my usual spot, crossing my fingers hoping no baby freshman found their way over to my spot. Thankfully, it was empty as always. They were all getting food. I’d sat in the same spot since freshman year. 18 tiles away from the trash can, far enough away to avoid much eye contact from people discarding their prison food, and 15 tiles away from the couple that sat to my right everyday. They weren’t there because they graduated last year. They looked happy. I doubt it lasted long after graduation, but I’m also a pessimist. Since there was extra space, I moved down about five tiles. Shaking things up this year.

I pulled out my book, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and leaned against the wall. I’d had the book for years and it was visibly worn – the pages yellowed and the cover torn. It was one of my favorite books, even though it was well below my reading level. I got it the summer before my 5th grade year and fell in love with it. The older I got, the more the meaning seemed to shift. Before I opened it, I turned on an instrumental playlist. I needed music to block out the background noise.

Every half page, I glanced up, making sure nobody was walking towards me. Honestly, I would’ve liked to have people come talk to me, but it was simultaneously one of my biggest fears. Sometimes I look at people who I can’t stand and they always sit alone, and I wonder if that’s how people see me – as the annoying person who’s every word makes you want to punch them in the face. That’s another one of my biggest fears.

I read for about 20 minutes before making my way to the food line. I left my stuff where it was, hoping nobody would take it. Nobody ever has, but I always worry that someone will go looking through it. It’s an irrational fear and I’m well aware, but I can’t help it. My lanyard hung out of my pocket as I walked up to the food line. I got a piece of pepperoni pizza, salad, and a juice. Honestly, I don’t like pizza that much, but nothing else looked appetizing. I grabbed my ID and let Miss Gina, the lunch lady scan it. She decided to make it her mission to loudly say “Hey Mike!” every day for everyone to hear. I knew she was just trying to be nice, but it was a punch of dysphoria in the gut every time. I was crossing my fingers that she wouldn’t recognize me, but different hair, same masculine face.

“Hel-lo Mike!” Her southern accent was buttery smooth, but also a reminder of where I lived and how nothing would ever change.

“Hi,” I said, too low pitched. I looked down at my tray and quickly walked away. I didn’t want to be rude, but it was difficult sometimes.

I got back to my spot and examined my stuff, making sure nothing was tampered with. Checking all of my stuff made me feel like a spy who had to make sure they weren’t being tracked. All clear for now, but keep an eye out. People may be suspicious… God, why are you such a child. You’re 16, get a hold of yourself. Maybe this is why you have no friends.

I put my earbuds back in and turned on my playlist of the month. I created a playlist for every month so I could look back and see what I was into that month. Medusa by Kailee Morgue played and I whispered along. I probably looked kind of crazy, but it was almost uncontrollable. If I could’ve, I would’ve been singing along full volume. Music was my one, true solace.

I looked at the crusty piece of pizza. The only appetizing part of it was the prospect of throwing it into the trash.

Come on, you’re underweight and you need food, no matter how gross it is. Choke it down because at least you have food. Hehe, “choke it down”… could you be mature please? I ate it all in about 30 seconds. How do they expect this to be enough to feed a teenager? I ate as much of the limpy salad as I could stomach and chugged my three sips of juice. I threw my tray away and got back to my book. I’d noticed a lot of people staring at me throughout lunch, and I tried to ignore it, but my anxiety wouldn’t let me. She’s such a bitch.

It is just because of what happened this morning? Don’t worry about all the people who are silently, or not so silently, judging you. Just be yourself, because that never leads to anything bad. Oh god, that really pretty guy is staring at you. Does he maybe think you’re attractive? No, you’re not, who are you kidding. It’s because you’re this loser, trans kid who’s sitting alone in the hallway who couldn’t look lamer. Just read your stupid book that’s meant for middle schoolers.

I silently read my book and listened to my music. I know a lot of people don’t like rereading books, or at least I assume, but I enjoy it. Every time you reread a book, you get something from it you didn’t get before.

It felt like forever, but lunch eventually ended. My next class was chorus and thankfully I knew where that was since I had the same class the year before. It was all the way across the school, so the teacher didn’t mind if we were late by a minute of two, unlike some who give you detention for not being in your seat by the time the bell rings. I speed walked to the room, trying to pass all the slow-walkers.

The chorus room was large. There were wide risers in the middle of the room that had chairs on them, normally, but today the chairs were in a circle around the room. Greaaaaat, one of her stupid games.

I got there pretty early, so most of the seats were open. I chose a random seat and waited. I saw a couple of my acquaintances and waved or said hi awkwardly, but nobody sat next to me. Maybe they heard about this morning and the gross trans kid? The class filled until there were only four open seats, the two on each side of me. Of course. When the bell rung and almost everyone was there, Mrs. Gould went to the front of the room. She clapped her hands together to get our attention. I half tuned her out. She gave a speech about us not being freshmen and us being better than her choir class. We were chorus, the class you had to audition for. We all already knew this, but she felt the need to announce it.

She gave us our sheets to get signed by our parents and our performance schedule. I pulled out my phone and put in all the dates while she kept talking. After an eternity of her rambling on, she finally started the game. 

She handed out packs of M&Ms, the fun pack you get when trick or treating. She told us to open them, but don’t eat them till we are done. She wrote something on the board.

Blue = family  
Yellow = friends  
Red = music  
Orange = what you’re looking forward to this year  
Green = school/activities  
Brown = other

She explained that for each M&M, we had to share a fact about ourselves with the corresponding color. Some people had some interesting things to share, but most people were pretty boring to listen to. Despite their generic answers, they managed to stretch them out forever. She was going by volunteers and I was determined to not volunteer in hopes we’d run out of time. There were 35 people in the class, and everyone was taking a long time. Chorus kids are narcissistic as hell. 

I looked at my M&Ms and planned what I would say. I had one blue - my sister goes to Georgia Tech. Three yellow – oh god I’ll pretend I don’t have any yellow. Two red – The Aces are my favorite band and I play ukulele and guitar. Four orange(this one was harder) – singing at Lake Winnie, an amusement park an hour away, singing Broadway stuff, which we always do, our Christmas party, and singing in general. The answer was basic, but that’s what most people said, so it’d work. Three green – I love English, I don’t like history, and I can’t wait for school to be over. Two brown - I work at a dog kennel and I want to move to New York when I graduate. There, that’ll work.

We had five minutes left when there were no more volunteers, and lo and behold, I was called on. I awkwardly stared at the half melted M&Ms in my hand.

“Um, blue: my sister goes to Georgia Tech. Yellow, I uh,” Crap, I was going to skip yellow. Too late now, come up with one thing. “Uh… if you can’t tell by the fact that the only empty seats in the whole room are next to me, I have no friends.” A couple of people said things like “what about me” but they weren’t my friends. We hadn’t talked in months. Suddenly, a couple of guys ran up and sat next to me. Okay then, pity friends. Great. My face must’ve been extremely red, but I continued on, naming the facts about myself. The bell rang and I made it out of the room in about 5 seconds flat. I looked at my schedule and rushed to my next class. Sociology. It was on the opposite side of the school and I knew I would barely make it on time. I walked as fast as I could, going down the stairs on the wrong side, but barely anybody was going up, so it was fine as long as I could make it on time. That was top priority. When I walked in there were two open seats, one next to Samantha, and the other by the window next to someone I didn’t know very well. I chose the one by the window, hoping the girl wasn’t saving the seat for anyone.

The teacher was so boring I was sure I’d be in a coma by the end of the class. Her name was Mrs. Something That Started With An S. She called me by my dead name and I saw  
Samantha look over, and for a second I was terrified she’d say something, some sort of snarky remark. Thankfully, she didn’t. My stomach felt like scrambled eggs, if that makes any sense. Class went painfully slow, but I was ecstatic when it ended. I pretty much ran out of the class and went to the car line. On my way, I saw something that caught my eye. It was a poster with a big rainbow on it. Gay. I stopped to look at it.

First Gay Straight Alliance Meeting:  
Monday during lunch  
Room 507  
Bring your food  
100% closed door policy

I took a picture of the poster. GSA wasn’t a thing last year but I’d heard about other schools having them. Wow, a whole club about being gay? I mean, I’m not technically gay, I’m bi and trans, but still. I figure they’ll let my fag ass in. Wow, I can meet other gays. And I can be me. God, I can meet people in real life who are gay, not just online. WOW. I walked outside, imagining how GSA would work. I pictured it in my head, everyone in a circle talking about gay stuff. Sure, that’s probably not how it would work, but still. Gay.

I sat at one of the picnic tables outside and waited for my adopted mother, Eliza to show up. She was always late, but she didn’t care. I listened to my music, as always, and scratched at my eraser. Anxiety was down to a 3, but I continued to scratch.

Eliza pulled up and I got in the passenger seat, quickly as possible.

“How was it?” She asked, blandly. She didn’t really care.

“Fine,” I said as I pulled out my phone. I opened Spotify and hit the Bluetooth button on the dashboard. “Don’t turn your shit on. Please just leave it.” 

We’d recently moved to an apartment only two miles from the school and I could’ve easily walked to and from school every day, but I’m a lazy gal.

“Can we stop at McDonalds? I want a shake and some fries. I barely ate any lunch,” I said as we came upon the intersection.

“We have food.” We didn’t, but I knew better than to argue. I could feel my stomach screaming for food. Honestly, I felt like screaming.

When we got to the apartment, I said hi to my cat, Ace, and gave him a little kiss on his little forehead. I dropped my bag down next to the couch and went to the freezer, looking for food.

The only food we ever had was frozen food, but I don’t complain. It was definitely better than nothing, even if it was the stuff you get at the dollar store. There wasn’t anything but a couple of beef pot pies, our staple freezer food. I couldn’t stomach another one. 

Wearily, I walked back to my room, bare of any decorations, striped off my pants, and plopped down on my bed. I turned on Grey’s Anatomy on my phone and balanced it against my pillow. We didn’t have Wi-Fi, but I had unlimited data, so I always watched on my phone. Again, better than nothing.

I curled up in my fuzzy blanket and let my exhaustion take over.

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS FOR READING! Let me know what you think, whether its good or bad


End file.
